


Circumstances Most Uncommon

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, Deviates From Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Homeopathic healer, Severus Snape, lives an ordered life. That is, until a young man named Harry Potter comes to his shop looking for a cure for his visions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written sometime between OoTP and HBP, so non-canon compliant after 5th book.

**Circumstances Most Uncommon  
Chapter One**

  
  
  


 

The people of the village were an odd lot. Snape had always thought so. He knew they were different, even though he had lived in the small flat over the shop most of his life, and had rarely ventured further than the town's borders. With no frame of reference, most wouldn't have noticed the strange behavior of the townspeople, but Snape wasn't infested with the commonness that afflicted most men.

He saw things. The superstitious ones called him fey, and he, in turn, delighted in calling them idiots, even if it was under his breath. He was no more fey than that crazy old bat, McGonagall, who lived on the edge of town, wallowing in her toy-sized house with her fifty cats. But the world was bleak and gray and people looked for magic wherever they could. Occasionally, they would find it in velvet paintings and polluted wishing wells. The utter commonness of it repulsed him.

He opened his shop that day as he always did, nodding his head in reluctant greeting to the few people who were unfortunate enough to be passing by as he unlocked the door. He was about to return to his perch on the hard stool near the back, when a soft chime heralded his first customer. Snape turned from the display of bottles he was straightening and faced the young man who had entered.

At first, the young man (which was, in Snape's opinion, a generous estimation; the boy looked no older than sixteen) simply stared at Snape. Snape stared back. After a moment, the boy closed his eyes and shook his head, as though he was clearing cobwebs from his brain, before reaching up to straighten his glasses. "I beg your pardon. I'm looking for Severus Snape."

"Whatever for?" Snape drawled. He refused to acknowledge the flicker of recognition he had felt when the boy spoke. Because it wasn't recognition, not exactly. It was something else – something indefinable and dangerous. Alluring.

"Oh. I…my doctor said I should speak to him about my…problem." The boy fidgeted with his glasses again, briefly met Snape's eyes, then dropped his gaze to the floor. "Are you him?" he muttered.

"Are you he?" Snape corrected.

The boy's eyes darted to his for a second, and Snape swore he saw a flicker of defiance in them. "Are you?" the boy asked again.

Snape lifted his face and stared down his chin at the bedraggled boy. "I am." He swiveled away and stalked to the rear of the shop. The boy cringed as Snape's medical coat snapped out behind him, narrowly missing several precarious looking pyramids of bottles. Snape glanced behind him. "Well? I don't have all day, boy. Let's get on with it." He narrowed his eyes as the boy shuffled cautiously to the back of the room. "What's your name?" Snape asked.

"Harry Potter," the boy answered. "I doubt you've heard of me."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "It's a small town, Potter. One never knows."

"That's true," Harry replied in a soft voice.

Snape slid onto his stool and motioned for Harry to do the same on the other side of the counter. He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and gave the boy his most menacing stare. "Do you know the type of medicine I practice, Potter?"

Harry gave an enthusiastic nod and his glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them up as he replied. "Yes. My doctor told me you specialize in homeopathic medicine." He dropped his eyes again. "She said it might be my only hope."

"You mean your last resort," Snape spat. He rolled his eyes when Harry gave him a sheepish look from beneath his long bangs. "Why is it, I wonder," Snape muttered to himself, "that I am always the one to work the miracles, and yet never receive the slightest recognition for what I do?"

"I…um—" Harry shrugged.

"It was rhetorical, Potter. Don't hurt yourself." Snape reached under the counter and pulled out a notebook and a ballpoint pen. "Right, then," he licked the tip of his finger and turned the page, "symptoms?"

Harry shifted on his stool. "Er…sleeplessness. Anxiety. Dreams."

Snape lifted his eyes to the squirming boy. "Dreams are not a medical condition."

Harry licked his lips. "Well, these…they're different. I see things and sometimes…sometimes they come true."

Snape's pen hovered over the page, but he didn't answer. Harry, sensing Snape's trepidation, rushed ahead. "Please, I'm not crazy. Maybe they're just hallucinations and…and coincidences, like my doctor said. But whatever they are, they're taking over my life. I need help. And she couldn't help me." He took a deep breath and met Snape's gaze. "Can you?"

Snape tapped his pen on the table. "I'm not sure."

Harry swallowed with an audible gulp. "Some people say you can work magic."

"There's no such thing." Snape stroked his chin and tapped his pen some more. "Let me ask you some more questions. It will help me determine what combination of ingredients has the best chance of alleviating your problems."

Harry nodded.

Snape took a deep breath. "I understand why these dreams may be causing you to lose sleep, but why do you think you're experiencing such compelling anxiety?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, before snapping it shut again and shaking his head.

Snape sighed. "When did these dreams start?"

Harry bit his lip. "I was in an accident recently. A bad smash-up. I nearly died," he said with a gulp. "They started right after that."

Snape pursed his lips as he processed that bit of information. "Do you recall the dreams?"

Harry nodded. "Oh, yes."

"Tell me about them."

Harry closed his eyes. He began to wring his loosely clasped hands. Snape could see the retelling made the boy apprehensive. "There's a castle," Harry began. He cracked an eye open to judge Snape's reaction. Snape looked on, impassive. "It's huge," he continued, "and there are wonderful people there, all dressed in long robes. They know me…" Harry's voice drifted off. He opened his eyes and looked at Snape. "I can tell by the way they talk to me."

Snape stifled a yawn. "Anything else?"

"I fly on a broom," Harry answered quietly.

Snape's lip quirked even as his breath caught. "I see."

Harry stared at Snape for several seconds before his face crumpled and he buried it in his hands. "I know it sounds crazy," he said, voice muffled.

"Hmmm." Snape replied. The boy's descriptions were simplistic at best, yet Snape had no trouble picturing them in his head. No trouble at all. He could even feel the wind on his face as he rode his own broom. The vision troubled him.

Harry's eyes appeared over his fingers. The green of his irises flashed with irritation, and Snape realized his noncommittal reply wasn't exactly what the boy had been hoping for. Harry straightened his glasses yet again and fingered a bottle of ink that sat fat and full on the table between them. Inexplicably, an image of the boy flashed through Snape's mind. He saw Potter sitting at a battered wood desk, clutching a similar bottle in his hand as he twirled a feathered quill in his fingers. His eyes were the same brilliant, piercing green, obscured by the same heavy frames.

Filled with the same resignation and fear.

Snape closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in an effort to dispel the vision, only to be inundated a second later by a rapid-fire volley of images of him and Potter together. In bed.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Snape barked, becoming more unnerved by the second.

Unaware of the older man's dilemma, Harry shot him a confused look and dropped his hands back into his lap. "I'm twenty-two. I graduated from uni last year." His lip curled slightly. "I know I'm small."

Snape shrugged. He wanted Potter to leave. "Perhaps you should be seeing a psychologist."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I thought that's what you were."

"Certainly not. I am a homeopathic healer."

Harry's gaze widened. "But – my doctor told me you also used to be a psychologist."

Snape resolved to put an end to the meeting post haste. He had little stomach for Harry's desperate eyes and pleading voice, and his strange sudden attraction to the youth as well as his other…feelings…made him uncomfortable. Whichever local physician had steered him to Snape's door was either completely flummoxed by the boy's condition or a quack. He suspected he could alleviate Harry's sleeplessness, but he would be damned if a pair of jeweled eyes and a firm body would tempt him to treat the boy's obvious mental problems. Never again. That part of his life was passed. The mysteries of the mind, those elusive things people searched for – castles and happiness and contentment and flying – they didn't exist, and he had stopped leading people on the merry chase for them many years ago.

"I believe I have enough to make a good start." He stood and after a moment, Harry did as well, although his eyes never left Snape's face. "Leave your number and billing information," Snape swiveled a ledger around toward Harry, "and I'll be in touch."

Harry bit his lip. "How long, do you think…" His voice trailed off as his pen scratched over the paper.

Snape scowled. "A few days," he snapped. "At the most," he added when Harry flinched at his tone. Snape glanced down at the book. "Do you have an emergency medical contact?"

Harry shook his head. He was staring at Snape again. Studying him.

Snape blinked and looked away, determined not to be hypnotized. "Surely there's someone?" he insisted. "A parent? A sibling? A friend?"

"There's no one," Harry replied with remarkable blandness.

Snape gave a brief frown before nodding. "Very well. I'll ring you when I have something ready." Harry nodded and turned to go, shuffling across the room with the same crippling fatigue and despondency he had entered with. Snape bit the inside of his cheek, but the words escaped anyway. "It shouldn't be long, Potter."

Harry's smile of gratitude soured Snape's stomach, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down and being nice, even if only briefly. He hated having his orderly life disturbed, yet this boy had done so in a matter of minutes.

Which is why, he told himself, he set to assembling the boy's medicines immediately. The sooner Potter was out of his life, the better.

Still, he had reassured the boy. Comforted him, even. Snape cringed at the thought. It was most uncommon behavior for him. As punishment for acting out of character, Snape resolved to wait at least a week before calling.

His resolve lasted one day.  
  


* * *

 

 

The phone rang four times before Potter's recorded voice came on the line. Snape left a brief message, as instructed, and hung up. His own phone rang a few moments later. He picked it up and listened, but didn't speak. After a few moments, Potter's tentative voice echoed through the line. "Hello?"

"Potter," Snape barked. He smirked at the boy's soft gasp of surprise.

"I didn't think anyone was there," Harry said with a soft sigh.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Someone is. Be here at ten o'clock this morning." He hung up before Harry could stumble through his next sentence. He didn't want to hear any gushing platitudes. There would be enough of those as it was when his treatment began working. And it would, of course. They always did. He had a gift for what he did.

Potter arrived at ten sharp. Snape did his best not to look impressed. It wasn't difficult considering the boy looked like hell. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced than the day before, if such a thing was possible, and his shoulders slumped more than ever.

A base urge to protect the young man rose up, but Snape squashed it. He thrust two bottles toward Harry and told him the price.

Harry eyed the bottles – one of pills, the other of liquid – and looked at Snape curiously. When Snape did nothing but stare back, Harry cracked a smile. Snape could tell it wasn't an expression Harry used often. "Your bedside manner could use some polishing," Harry commented.

Snape bristled, despite the truth of the statement. "Is it your practice to insult every person who tries to help you?" he asked.

Harry's smile didn't falter, although it did turn bitter. "Only the ones whom I pay." Without another word, he removed several crisp bills from his wallet and laid them on the counter. "Thank you and goodbye," he mumbled as he turned to go.

The abrupt dismissal stung. Why he should care for the hurt feelings of a perfect stranger baffled him, but as Snape saw the boy leaving, the beginnings of panic licked at his heart. "Potter!" he called, before Harry had taken two steps. When Harry turned back, Snape adopted his best posture of friendly indifference. "The trick to successful homeopathy is feedback on the results of the curatives."

Harry blinked and his mouth dropped open slightly. "Is that so?" he asked, voice soft.

Snape gave a curt nod. He reached under the counter and pulled out the battered ledger. "I take it from your appearance that you had more nightmares last night," he said. He licked his finger and turned to a blank page. He didn't look back at Harry.

Harry's mouth turned up at the question that was not a question. Like a timid animal, he approached the high counter at the back of the shop. Snape repressed another wave of sympathy for the boy. Quite obviously, no one took much interest in him. Snape knew he shouldn't encourage Potter, but his mouth kept running away with his brain. For some reason, he wanted to listen to the boy talk.

"Were these dreams disturbing enough to interrupt your sleep more than once?" he asked in his best professional voice.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"Do you remember them?"

Harry's green eyes bore into him. "Yes."

Snape tapped his pencil on the paper. "Well?"

"They were about you," Harry whispered. Without any additional encouragement, he climbed onto the same stool he had occupied the day before and stared across the counter at Snape.

Snape's pencil stilled at Harry's admission. He glanced up, and Harry blushed. Snape's stomach flip-flopped.

"Not those kinds of dreams," Harry hastened to explain, mistaking Snape's discomfited look for something else. "Well, I mean—" he dropped his eyes to his lap. "You did kiss me."

Snape licked his lips.

"But," Harry added, "How can I explain?" He scrubbed his hands over his face before meeting Snape's eyes again. "You were kissing me goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Snape croaked.

Harry nodded. "As though you expected to never see me again."

Snape cleared his throat and willed his brain to chug forward, away from the images of kissing Potter. "Do not be concerned, Potter. Your mind is simply wading through your subconscious fears. That is a dream's function. You are afraid I will not be able to help you. That is what the dream means."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Do you think?"

Snape couldn't help but notice the boy's patronizing expression. He nodded. "I am positive."

Harry took a deep breath, then bit his lip. "Then, how does that explain the dream I had about you three nights ago?"

Snape narrowed his eyes at Potter. "Three nights ago, you say?"

"Yes." Harry leaned forward. "Two days before I met you." When Snape started to speak, Harry cut him off with a gesture. A flash of anger, of desperation, flared in his eyes, exactly as it had yesterday. "How do you explain that, Mr. Snape? How do you explain that I dreamed about you before I even met you?" Harry leaned back, breathing heavily.

Snape, as well, sat back. He steepled his fingers under his chin. "Potter," he said, "I have lived here all my life. Am I to understand that you have, as well?"

Harry faltered. "Well, I…I moved around a lot. But, I always lived in this general area, yes. At least until I went to school a few years ago."

Snape stared at Harry, willing the boy to make the connection. When he did, some of the passion in his eyes died. "You're suggesting I've seen you before."

Snape nodded. "I am."

"But I don't remember ever seeing you before."

Snape leaned forward. "The mind, Potter, is a curious thing. Never believe anyone who claims to understand its workings. Some experiences are filed away for years before they are ever recalled. They sit here," Snape tapped his forehead, "until we need them. And when our need it great, our subconscious delivers."

Harry grimaced. "No, that's not what this feels like–" He cut himself off and shook his head. "Never mind." He fingered the bottles as he slid off the stool. "Do-do you want me to come back tomorrow?"

Snape's fingers clenched around his pencil. The simple question set off as many warning signals in his brain as it did fireworks in his body. He wondered if the boy realized what his innocent words meant to a tired, lonely man like him. Then he met Harry's stare, recognized both the challenge and invitation in it, and let the beginnings of a smile touch his face. "If it is convenient for you," he hedged.

"I think I can make the time," Harry responded in a husky whisper. He slipped the bottles into his pocket and, with a parting smile, walked away. Snape pretended not to notice the slight bounce in the boy's step that hadn't been there a few minutes before. If he refused to see it, there would be no need to chastise himself. No need to stifle the yearnings. No need to prepare himself for disappointment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Circumstances Most Uncommon  
Chapter Two**

  
  
  


 

When Snape raised the blinds and unlocked the door the next morning, Harry was there. Snape cursed when he spied the boy through the glass, hunched over on the front step and shaking like a leaf. Without a second thought, he swung the door open, pulled Harry inside, and closed and locked the door once more.

"I apologize," he said without preamble. "I should have warned you. It's the nature of the cure. Sometimes the symptoms become worse before they get better." He didn't wait for an answer, merely pushed the distraught young man ahead of him toward the back of the shop. Bypassing the hard, unforgiving stools, he steered Harry to a squishy armchair.

When Snape crouched in front of him, Harry looked up. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the tear tracks still visible on his cheeks.

"Tell me," Snape demanded.

"You were yelling at me," Harry began in a broken voice. "Your voice…it was hateful. And—" he paused and took a deep breath, "I don't want you to hate me. Ever."

"I don't hate you," Snape assured him, although Harry didn't register that he'd heard.

"You were standing over someone. A man. An old man. And – and you did something to him. You hurt him. And I was so angry at you for it." Harry closed his eyes and tears squeezed out from beneath the lids, following the tracks of the previous ones.

Snape watched them fall, hypnotized. Unable to curb the impulse, he reached up and cupped Harry's cheek in his palm. "I'm going to help you. You must believe that."

"It felt like it was really happening." Harry covered Snape's hand with his own, before guiding it to his lap where he entwined it with his. Snape allowed the contact, even as he questioned the appropriateness of it. Truthfully, he couldn't have resisted had he wanted to.

"It was a dream, nothing more." Snape squeezed Harry's hands. He rose, intending to prepare a cup of tea for the boy, as well as put some much needed distance between them, but Harry refused to let go. He pulled Snape back down beside him.

"I don't know what's real anymore," he whispered. He guided Snape's hand back into his lap.

It wasn't a request. Not really. But Snape knew what the boy was asking for. He told himself that it was a testament to his uncommonness that he gave in to Harry so easily. Most people would have turned him away regardless of their desires, disgusted at their arousal and ashamed by the boy's vulnerability. But Snape had always been different. Not unlike Harry, as a matter of fact.

"You mustn't give up," Snape whispered back. He leaned forward, intending to only brush their lips together, to offer a taste, but Harry surged forward and kissed him hungrily. In a matter of moments, Snape was lost. His belief that he was too old, Harry too vulnerable, the situation too explosive – all these flew from his mind as Harry scrambled out of the chair and climbed into Snape's lap.

Harry's kisses burned, and yet, Snape noticed with a touch of surprise, they weren't desperate. Rather, the boy was meticulous, exploring Snape's mouth with his tongue as though memorizing every inch. Soon, Snape lost his balance and tumbled backward onto the floor. Harry followed.

He climbed atop the older man, but when Snape arched his head off the floor, seeking Harry's lips, Harry pulled back. They stared at each other, panting, until Harry spoke. "This doesn't feel like the first time."

"No," Snape agreed.

"And yet it does," Harry continued, sounding confused.

"It's perfect," Snape said. Perhaps not his most eloquent moment, yet a tidy summation of the situation, he thought. Harry continued to stare at him, and Snape wondered if the boy wanted him to beg. He wondered if he would.

"Harry," he whispered. Harry's eyes widened, and Snape realized he had not called the boy by his first name before. With a muffled cry that rang with both need and despair, Harry crushed their lips together once more. His legs, spread haphazardly across Snape's lap, trembled as Harry pushed his hips forward. Snape gasped, before answering with a sharp thrust of his own. His cock, hard and aching in his trousers, brushed Harry's answering bulge, and Snape groaned. "Harry," he rasped again.

Suddenly, Harry was gone. Snape peeled his eyes open only to be greeting by the sight of Harry ripping off his shirt and fumbling with the zipper on his trousers. Snape reached to help, but Harry batted his hands away. He shot Snape a brief apologetic look, before resuming his task. "If you touch me, I swear I'll come," he muttered.

Snape stroked Harry's trembling thighs. "It's all right," he said, but Harry shook his head.

"I want you inside me first."

Snape's breath caught in his throat and his hands flew to his own clothing. He ripped at the buttons on his shirt and managed to free two before Harry reached up and yanked it the rest of the way open. Before Snape could bemoan the loss of the buttons, Harry was sucking and biting at his chest. Snape's head fell back to the rug with a soft clunk, and his hands clenched at the carpet. When Harry latched on to a nipple and began to suckle, Snape grabbed him by the hair and yanked him away. "Now!" he demanded. Before Harry could answer, Snape flipped him over onto his back. The threadbare carpeting did little to cushion knees and elbows, but neither noticed the discomfort. Snape rose to shove his trousers and pants off. He lost his balance and nearly fell when he glanced down and saw Harry waiting for him, legs spread, hand tugging rhythmically at his cock.

Finally naked, Snape collapsed onto Harry, once again searching for the boy's mouth with his. The sensation of their mouths together, breath mingling, cheeks rubbing, hands pulling, was indescribable. But it wasn't enough. Snape's cock twitched at the thought of being buried inside of the writhing boy beneath him. With a growl, he hauled himself up to his knees and pushed Harry's legs to his chest. "Yes," Harry gasped and tugged on his arms, urging him down, but Snape resisted. Instead, he reached up onto one of the many shelves lining the backside of the counter and fumbled around. Glass bottles clinked and clattered and a few tumbled to the carpet before Snape found the one he was looking for. With a triumphant smile, he held the small bottle of oil out to Harry.

Harry smirked. "My hero," he said.

They both paused at the offhand remark. When Snape opened his mouth to speak, Harry shushed him. "Whatever it is, I don't want to talk about it now."

Snape obeyed. Why those two words would cause his breath to catch in his throat, he had no idea. Nor was it important at the moment. He hefted Harry's legs onto his shoulders, uncorked the bottle, and drizzled oil over Harry's cock and into his cleft. Harry keened as the liquid hit his heated body. Smiling, Snape reached down and rubbed the oil over Harry's cock with one swift movement, removing his hand before Harry could bat it away.

"You're evil," Harry moaned.

When Snape paused again, Harry growled. "For god's sake, stop thinking so much and fuck me!"

Harry's demand obliterated his earlier words from Snape's mind. With fumbling movements, he poured oil onto his fingers and slid two of them into Harry's hole.

"Oh, fuck…yes," Harry groaned. He pushed back, silently begging for more. When Snape tried to add a third finger, Harry jerked away. "God damn it! Just do it. I need it. I need the pain or I'm not going to last. Please."

Snape huffed in amusement, the sound at odds with his labored breathing. He grabbed Harry's thighs and dragged him forward across the carpet until his arse was nestled against Snape's jutting cock. "Yesssss," Harry hissed. He threw his head back and arched his hips forward.

"Wait," Snape grunted. He fumbled for the bottle of oil and poured what was left over his thick erection. Feeling as desperate as Harry, he turned his head to press a kiss to the soft skin behind Harry's knee, darting his tongue out to tease the sensitive area. When Harry gasped, toes curling at the unexpected sensation, Snape thrust forward.

It was like coming home.

Harry cried out and grabbed Snape by the biceps. "Oh God," he whispered. "Oh, God."

Snape leaned over Harry, bending him in half as he sank the rest of the way into his body, and attacked his mouth. He ravaged the full lips before scraping his teeth along Harry's cheek and doing the same to his throat. He held his hips still, determined to wait for Harry's signal that he was ready.

Harry let his head fall back in complete submission against the assault. Moans and other passionate noises poured from his mouth as Snape devoured him. When Snape felt Harry's iron grip on his arms ease a little, he pulled back. "Now," Harry panted. "Please."

Snape needed no further encouragement. He braced his arms on the floor on either side of Harry's head and pulled out almost completely before slamming forward again. Harry cried out, and his arse clamped down, vise-like, around Snape's cock. Snape wheezed as he pulled back and thrust again, trying to breathe through the intense pleasure. For a brief moment he worried that the boy felt too tight, too new, and a spark of guilt blossomed in his chest. He dismissed it with minimal effort, reveling in the flood of ecstasy rolling through his body. Soon he was pumping fast and hard, driven on by Harry's wordless sounds of passion.

Harry's cries became clipped, hiccup-like moans and his legs, still thrown over Snape's shoulders, tensed. His eyes flew open and met Snape's. Snape leaned forward and left one more bruising kiss on Harry's lips before whispering into his mouth, "Now, Harry. Now."

He slid his hand between them and grasped Harry's swollen cock. He let the momentum of his own movements carry his hand up and down over Harry's pulsing erection once, then twice, and then…Harry was coming. His back arched off the floor and his hands, tightened in fists, slipped from Snape's shoulders and pounded the worn carpet on either side of him. Thick spurts of hot semen sprayed from his cock, coating Snape's hand and his own chest. He cried out repeatedly, nonsense that may have been words or curses or prayers.

Snape's own orgasm crashed over him with startling speed, spurred on by the feeling of Harry's arse pulsing around his cock and the boy's cries of abandon. With a roar, he strained forward, jerking and moaning as he emptied himself inside his young lover.

As the tremors faded, one of his arms gave out and he fell forward. He mumbled an inarticulate apology, but Harry shushed him and urged him the rest of the way down. It occurred to Snape that he may be crushing the smaller man, but Harry didn't seem to mind the added weight. When Snape was able to draw a full breath, he raised himself onto his elbows and took Harry's face in his palms. Harry's eyes were bright – fathomless – and Snape felt any words quite beyond him. To compensate for his appalling inability to speak, he peppered Harry's face with soft kisses and tenderly wiped away small droplets of perspiration with his fingertips. It was only when his lover's cheeks seemed to be growing more rather than less damp that he realized Harry was crying.   
  


* * *

 

 

For a week, Harry spent evenings in the apartment above the shop. By unspoken agreement, near eleven o'clock each night, he would climb from the bed and start to hunt for his clothing. It was as though he sensed Snape's desire to keep that last bit of distance between them, for he never fussed about leaving. But Snape's resolve to keep Harry at arm's length was faltering as the days wore on. His visions of the boy, however, were not. Instead, they grew more frequent and vivid. Sometimes he saw Harry as a man, fierce and confident. At other times, Harry was a mere boy, fear and awe in his eyes.

He blamed the visions on his penchant for knowing things and came to hate his ability like never before.

Some nights, Snape stayed in bed when Harry got up, as he found the sight of Harry getting dressed only slightly less provocative than Harry getting undressed. Sometimes, though, he would extract himself from the warm sticky sheets and help the boy fumble around in the dark for his hastily discarded trousers and shirt.

They never turned on the lights, although it would have made perfect sense to do so. The first night, Snape had reached for the small bedside lamp, but Harry had stayed his hand. There had been a full moon, and the room was speckled with its bright light. "Don't," Harry had said. At Snape's questioning look, he gave a sheepish shrug. "It's just so magical like this."

Snape held his tongue, unable to disagree.

On the eighth night, as Harry sat on the edge of the bed and buttoned his shirt, he spoke to Snape over his shoulder. "I keep seeing people in town. People from my dreams." He delivered the two statements with little emotion, but Snape could tell from the rigidness of Harry's shoulders that he was apprehensive about Snape's reaction.

Snape frowned. "I thought the frequency of the dreams was decreasing."

"It is. They are," Harry insisted. He turned and smiled at Snape. "Whatever you're putting in those pills and that elixir is working. But…"

Snape held back a sigh. "But…"

Harry laughed and climbed back onto the bed and into Snape's arms. "I can hear the frustration in your voice."

"I am not frustrated with you, Harry."

Harry shrugged. He didn't seem inclined to argue. "The dreams aren't as frequent as they used to be," he admitted. "But, when I have them, they're so vivid." He groaned and nestled his head in the crook of Snape's arm. "Last night, I saw a girl – well, a woman. She had long brown hair, and she was screaming at me. I could barely hear her, but I knew she was screaming."

Snape stroked soothing fingers over Harry's back. "What was she screaming, Harry?"

Harry shrugged as best he could while cradled in Snape's arms.

"Tell me," Snape insisted. "Perhaps I can help. Or, perhaps the retelling will jog your memory."

Harry sighed. "She was screaming, 'Be careful, Harry. He's coming. He's almost here. Remember your training. Remember all of us.' And she was holding something out to me. It looked like a stick, but it wasn't. It was more." He swallowed past a lump in his throat and looked up at Snape. "What does it mean?"

Snape shrugged, doing his best to hide his concern as he bluffed his way through an answer. "If I were to guess, I'd say your mind, your subconscious, is trying to tell you something. Perhaps, that it is time for you to deal with an issue that you have so far refused to acknowledge. It's probable, actually, that your recent accident and brush with death is the root of these dreams and feelings."

Harry absorbed Snape's words silently while he enjoyed the soothing touches and embrace. "That is when they started," he admitted, although he didn't comment further. After a few moments, he pecked Snape on the cheek – a soft, open-mouthed kiss – and tried to slide back off the bed. Snape, however, refused to let him go. When Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, Snape sighed. "Stay."

Harry's restless movements stilled. He nibbled his lip and stared at Snape's bare chest. "I shouldn't. I don't want to take the chance of keeping you awake."

"You will not. And this conversation is not finished."

Harry slumped back to the mattress. "I don't want to talk about my dreams anymore," he groused. "You think I'm crazy."

Snape tilted Harry's face to his. "That is not true. However, if you are truly ambivalent about discussing your dreams, then perhaps a different topic is in order. And, there is one I am curious about."

"What would that be?" Harry asked.

"Your family."

A wary sadness crossed Harry's features. "Why?" he whispered.

Snape pulled Harry closer. He told the truth. "Because I don't understand why you're alone."

Harry removed himself from the tangle of arms and sheets and scooted to the edge of the bed. He sighed before glancing over his shoulder at his lover. "Honestly," he said, "there's not much to tell."

Snape snaked a hand across the space and twined his fingers with Harry's. "I would still like to know."

Harry nodded and looked away. Snape was not offended. He understood – distance made the confession bearable. He remained where he was, across the bed, but he tightened his hold on Harry's hand.

Harry cleared his throat. With his free hand, he began fiddling with a corner of the bed sheet. "My parents were killed when I was very young. I was barely four years old. It was a car accident." He glanced back at Snape. "Kind of ironic, huh?"

Snape rubbed his thumb over Harry's knuckles. "Were you with them?"

Harry swallowed. "Yes." Absently, he reached up to rub his forehead. "It's how I got this."

"Your scar?" Snape asked.

This time Harry twisted around and faced Snape before he answered. "Yes. Every time I look in a mirror it reminds me of what happened."

Snape inhaled and gave a gentle tug on their joined hands. Harry came into his arms without a fuss. Snape ran his fingers through Harry's hair and debated how much to say. He was now positive Harry's current problems were rooted in the past, with the death of his parents. His brain wrapped happily around the idea – it was a comfortable, scientific diagnosis. A rational one based on the evidence presented. It eased his mind.

When Snape had Harry cradled against his chest, swaddled in bedcovers, he spoke. "I imagine life was not easy for a young boy left alone in the world. Where did you go?"

Harry made a noncommittal sound. "Here and there," he mumbled. "Foster homes, mostly. Some were good. Some…were not." Snape didn't comment. Idly, he ran his fingers through Harry's hair and traced his fingers over the soft shell of his ear while he waited for Harry to continue. Eventually, Harry did. "I still own my parents' house, you know. I haven't been there since that night. But…it's kept for me. So maybe someday I could go back."

Snape kissed him on the temple. "Maybe someday you will."   
  


* * *

 

 

Harry slipped from their bed early the next morning. With a murmured goodbye and one last lingering kiss, he disappeared from the room, his only other words a whispered promise that Snape would see him that evening. It was much later, as Snape was opening the shop, when he realized that Harry had not experienced any disturbing dreams the night before. He fought the smile for several seconds before giving in to the alien expression.

As he pulled open the blinds on the storefront window, he noticed a well-dressed gentleman waiting for him to unlock the door. Despite the man's obvious breeding and unassuming manner, Snape disliked him straight off. He was tall and carried a large black leather briefcase. It was the briefcase that put Snape on his guard. "What, pray tell," he drawled, "does a well-respected barrister need with the questionable services of a homeopath?"

The man, all shaggy tawny hair and amber eyes, arched an eyebrow at him. "However did you know?" he asked.

Snape snorted. "The clothing and briefcase rather gave it away."

The man smiled. "Actually, what I meant was, how did you know I was respectable?"

Snape covered his discomfort by turning and stalking to the rear of the shop. He disliked being caught off-guard, and it was happening with unnerving frequency these days. He blamed it entirely on Harry. The boy was stirring up feelings Snape had never experienced. And yet, he had become a familiar fixture in Snape's life with startling speed.

"What can I do for you?" he called to the man as he moved toward the back of the store.

The man followed Snape to the high counter and extended a business card. "Remus Lupin. I represent the Potter family."

"I was under the impression there was no Potter family."

Lupin's eyes softened. "You're quite right. There's just Harry."

Snape felt unaccountably angry with the barrister all of a sudden. "He's not JUST anything," he snapped.

Lupin held the card under Snape's nose for another several seconds before replacing it in his breast pocket. He cleared his throat and shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other. Snape's lip quirked. "Have you come to assure yourself that I am not molesting him?" he asked.

Lupin cleared his throat again. "Are you?"

Snape gave an evil grin in return. "Maybe."

Lupin's eyes hardened. Suddenly, he was all business. "I want you to leave Harry alone. He's not stable."

Snape bit back his angry retort. "Not stable, you say?"

"That's right. He's been in an accident recently. One that nearly claimed his life. He hasn't been the same since. It's as though…as though the incident has brought everything back. The loss of his parents, I mean to say. Not that you'd know anything about that."

Snape snarled. "I know quite a bit more than you might think, sir. I am quite aware of Harry's accident. As well as how he has been suffering since it occurred. And while you may term his recent behavior as 'reliving', I would suggest that he is dealing with something far more complicated than post traumatic stress."

Lupin cocked his head. "And what would that be?"

"That is none of your business, I'm afraid," Snape retorted.

Lupin's eyes narrowed. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Leave him alone, Mr. Snape."

"Why is this any business of yours, may I ask?" Snape rose from his seat and hovered over the other man.

Lupin sighed and sank back onto his stool, acquiescing Snape's superiority for the moment. "He's a very wealthy young man. Please understand, there are those who have tried to take advantage of him in the past."

Snape gave a bitter laugh. "Well, how fortunate for Harry that you are around to look after his…interests." He took in Lupin's tailored suit and Italian loafers, before sneering at the other man. "I will do as I please. Harry is a grown man, despite how you treat him. I am confident he will overcome whatever difficulties he is having."

Lupin gave Snape a strange look before standing and straightening his coat. "I hope you're right," he said. "For both your sakes."

It was the next day before Snape was able to shake the crushing feeling of foreboding that had descended with Lupin's visit. He was at a loss to explain his overprotective behavior – yet another unexplainable emotion he could attribute to Harry.

He purposefully did not mention the barrister's appearance. He saw no reason to. Harry was improving by leaps and bounds all on his own. Snape suspected the cathartic confession about his parents had been helpful, as well as the mild sedative Snape was giving him each evening. Little by little, hour by hour, the boy shed the layers of his fantasy world and grounded himself more fully in his waking reality. He was healing, moving beyond whatever demons had been haunting him. At the same time, Snape felt his own demons disappearing. His own visions faded. He found, for the first time in years, that he was content.

He was making notes in his ledger when the chime over the door sounded for the first time that morning. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry glance up from his reading chair in the back of the room. Snape's mouth thinned when he realized the boy was scrutinizing the young lady. When Harry returned to his reading without any reaction, Snape breathed a sigh of relief. He never knew when someone from Harry's dreams would make an appearance.

Snape cleared his throat and addressed his customer. "Ms. Weasley. Here for your mother's order?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Snape," the girl answered. Snape nodded and retreated into the back to fetch the two wrapped packages. When he returned, he saw that the youngest Weasley had found her way over to Harry – not a huge surprise, he supposed. Snape listened with half an ear as the girl chattered on and Harry nodded politely. "He's amazing, isn't he?" the girl said. "My mother says it's pure sorcery the way he brews his potions."

Behind the counter, Snape froze and glanced sharply at the redheaded girl.

"What did you say?" Harry asked in a quiet voice.

"His concoctions," the girl said. "He always seems to know just what to put in them and how to make them work. My mum calls his talent most uncommon."

Harry gave a watery smile. "Yes. It is that, isn't it?"

Snape cleared his throat and the Weasley girl bounced over. As she dug in her purse for the payment, Snape eyed Harry out of the corner of his eye. The boy's eyes were fixed on his book, but even from where Snape was standing, he could tell Harry wasn't reading.

Snape didn't make an issue of the girl's remarks. Instead, he went about his business as he usually did. He put the money for Molly Weasley's order in the cash drawer, then resumed his inventory, passing Harry's chair on his way to the herbal remedies area. When he returned an hour later, cradling the completed inventory to his chest, Harry was still staring at the same page.   
  


* * *

 

 

Harry rolled over and threw an arm and a leg over Snape's body. Snape made a small sound of contentment and curled an arm around Harry's shoulder. He buried his nose in Harry's hair and inhaled, enjoying the lingering musk of sweat and sex. Harry made a purring sound before he pulled back. "Severus…if I said 'Wingardium'…what would you say?"

Snape's heart stilled. "Bless you," he replied offhandedly.

Harry laughed and nuzzled Snape's neck. "I guess that answers my question."

Snape's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of Harry's breath against his throat. "Which was?"

Harry shrugged and pulled away. He stretched his arms above his head and stared at the ceiling. "Whether or not you recognize the word," he said.

Snape bit the inside of his cheek. "I've never heard it before."

They stared at each other for an eternity before Harry looked away and cuddled closer once again. "All right, then."

Snape fell asleep with Harry curled against him, the boy's blunt fingers tangled in his hair. He woke only once, for no discernable reason. Beside him, Harry slept peacefully, the nightmares few and far between now. A chill autumn breeze rattled the shutters on his window and whistled through the small cracks in the wood.

"Leviosa," Snape said to the silent room.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


**Circumstances Most Uncommon  
Chapter Three**

  
  
  


 

The day dawned cold. The weather was appropriate, in Snape's opinion – it matched his mood. He had slept little the night before, remaining awake and alert through the early morning hours while Harry slept beside him, unaware of his turmoil.

Snape scowled at the gray, overcast day. When Harry joined him in the shop, he pasted a grimace on his face and hoped it passed for a smile.

Harry returned the look with a lopsided smile of his own and cocked his head to the side. "What's bothering you?" he asked as he slid Snape's teacup from the table and sipped from it.

Snape's faced reverted to its natural scowl and he snatched his tea from Harry's grip. "Nothing. Do not trouble yourself."

"Too late." Harry closed the few feet that had been separating them and slipped into Snape's personal space as though he belonged there. Snape's scowl deepened, but his traitorous arms came up to encircle the boy. He sighed. "I am tired. Nothing more."

Harry's lips thinned. He reached between them and stole the steaming cup of tea once again. "Why don't you go back upstairs and rest, then? I'll watch the shop." He raised the cup to his lips, eyeing Snape over the rim.

Snape hissed in annoyance and swiped the teacup back, only to find it empty. He shot Harry a glare, but Harry just shrugged and smiled. Snape's shoulders, tight with tension before, became even stiffer. "I will be fine. You, on the other hand, have somewhere to be, do you not?"

Harry made a face and slinked away. "You had to remind me." .

"You must not neglect your health, Harry."

Harry sighed. He slumped onto a stool and stared up at Snape through his long bangs.

"I hate these check-ups. I'm perfectly fine. Why must I go back again and again?"

Snape snorted. "Because your doctor ordered you to do so. Goodbye. I'll see you in an hour." He turned away and set to dusting and rearranging the contents of the tall glass cabinets that lined one wall of the shop. Behind him, he heard Harry huff and the stool scrape across the floor as the boy slid from it.

"Fine," Harry said. "I'm going." Snape tried not to smile at the sullen tone. The argument lasted all of twenty seconds, until Harry reached the front door. Then he swung around and called out to Snape. "Shall I bring sandwiches back for lunch?"

"That would be appreciated," Snape replied. He glanced at Harry over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and in a blink the tension evaporated. "Good luck," Snape told him.

Harry smiled and gave a small wave as he left the shop. Snape watched him go and followed his progress down the street until he was too far away to see through the crackled glass. He turned back to his dusting, but had only completed one shelf when the front door bell rang.

When Snape turned from the cabinet to greet the customer, he was struck numb. Feeling flooded back in the next moment, but an icy chill remained. A man, not a customer, stood in the center of the shop and stared at Snape. His clothes were filthy and mismatched, and his stench reached Snape from several feet away. He was short, but not small. Snape would have labeled him stocky had a label been important at that moment. The presence of a gun in the man's hand rather eclipsed such a mundane thought, however.

"What can I do for you?" Snape asked, voice even.

The man's nose wrinkled up and he gave a short, nasal laugh. Snape was unpleasantly reminded of a fat rat. "Money," the man answered. "And glory. Got any of that 'round here?"

"Money I have," Snape answered. "Glory is earned."

"And you would know 'bout that, wouldn't you?" the rat-man answered.

Snape allowed his confusion to show. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

The rat-man's eyes glazed over. He began to sway back and forth, although the gun, trained on Snape, remained steady. "Where's the boy?" he asked.

Snape stiffened. "Out for the day."

The man scrubbed a grubby hand across his face, smearing snot from his nose in a broad stroke across his cheek. "Figures," he whispered. His eyes cleared, and he jerked the gun toward the back counter. "The money, then, since you don't have anything else to tempt me with."

Snape clenched his teeth but nodded. "Very well." He began to move across the room toward the register. He had only taken a few steps when the front bell chimed again. Snape spun around, a warning on his lips, but his voice failed when he saw Harry crossing the threshold. Fear, frigid and bracing, paralyzed him, but he managed a choked warning.

Harry's brow wrinkled. He shrugged off his coat and folded it over his arm. "Severus?" he asked.

Snape's eyes swung to the rat-man and Harry's followed. The sight of the man, then the gun, brought him up short. His fists clenched around the coat nestled in his arms. "Who are you?" he demanded

"Harry!" Severus hissed.

Harry ignored him. He threw his coat to the side and planted his hands on his hips. "What do you want?"

The man stalked across the shop to Harry and shoved the gun against his cheek. Snape felt his stomach drop to his toes. He thought he might be sick. Strangely, Harry looked calm. "You won't be taking anything that belongs to us," he said. "Go away."

"Harry," Snape whispered again, only this time his tone was pleading. "For God's sake…"

Harry met Snape's eyes across the tension-filled space. "I'm sorry, Severus," he said. "I won't give in. It's not my way."

"Not your way?" Snape rasped. He struggled to form the words he wanted, any words, but none would come. Not his way? The boy radiated submissiveness. And now, in a life or death situation, he was going to stand his ground? "Do you have a death wish, Potter?" he whispered.

Harry's eyes grew wide. "No," he answered after a long moment. "I have a life wish." He turned back to the other man. "Get out of here," he said. He took a step forward, and the gun pushed into the soft skin of his cheek. "Get out, now!"

Snape saw rat-man's eyes fill with hate, and knew the exact moment that the thief decided to kill Harry. His paralysis broke. Unthinking of the consequences, he rushed forward. As with all such events in life, the trip across the shop took an eternity. Snape heard Harry yell. He saw rat-man swing the gun around. He glimpsed a stark future alone, and knew he had made the only choice he could.

The report from the gunshot shook the dozens of bottles in their glass cases. A puff of smoke filled the air, and in the moment before he fell, Snape smelled blood.   
  


* * *

 

 

Snape could smell blood.

He finished pooling his power for the incantation and took a deep breath. He knew he should open his eyes and check the status of the battle, but he couldn't shake the childlike desire to avoid seeing what he already suspected. As he hesitated, a sudden hot wind, bearing the stench of even more smoke and blood, blew against him, stealing his breath with its strength. Reflexively, he opened his eyes and sucked in the putrid air.

Chaos reigned around him. Across a deep, craggy valley, on a hill far in the distance, sat Hogwarts, smoke pouring from several of its towers. The great lake, situated below it, churned with froth.

Bodies lay around him, some dead, others just broken. He heard someone - Kingsley, he thought – scream a command. It was mostly swallowed up by other screams, and all Snape could make out were the words "stand your ground" and "protect." Acrid smoke filled the air, dozens of figures moving ghostlike within it. Everywhere he looked, flashes of light flew back and forth across the field like a macabre fireworks display.

A few feet away, an Auror was suddenly hit and enveloped by a bright red light. He tumbled backward and fell to the ground with a thud, smoke pouring from the open hole in his chest.

Impassive, Snape turned away from the scene and strengthened the magical shield surrounding the two of them. Beside him, Harry continued to prepare himself. Snape crowded close, taking perverse comfort in Harry's presence. "Are you ready?" he yelled over the noise.

Harry nodded. "Almost." He didn't open his eyes. Instead, he continued to murmur under his breath, garnering his will and his power. Today, together, they hoped to deliver the deciding blow in the battle and the war.

Against his better judgment, Snape ignored the battle and stared at Harry. His thoughts turned to the night before, when they had laid in bed, silent and scared, wondering if it would be the last time. Their last time. They had spoken little, each knowing tomorrow's victory was anything but assured.

As Harry's furious whispering tapered off, Snape glanced back to the battlefield. His breath caught in his throat. Fate, it seemed, enjoyed mocking them. Voldemort stood not twenty feet away, glaring at them with hate-filled eyes. His position was perfect. Unprotected. Snape couldn't have planned it any better had he tried. Their success was almost assured.

On the other hand, at some point during the past several minutes, he and Harry had been cut off from the rest of the fight. Their allies were far away across the rolling and rocky land, engaged in a furious battle for their own survival, not protecting Harry as they should have been. Instead, at least a dozen Death Eaters surrounded their small bubble of magical protection, each with his wand at the ready. When Snape heard a gasp, he knew Harry had noticed their dilemma as well.

Timing would be the key to their success; their advantage, such as it was, would not hold forever. Yet Snape didn't hesitate to open his arms and draw Harry into them one last time. He tilted the boy's face to his and brushed a soft kiss against his mouth.

Harry gave one last furtive look around, then sighed against his lips. "It's not fair," he whispered in a choked voice.

"No," Snape agreed. "It is not." He allowed himself one long selfish moment to enjoy the feel of Harry in his arms, the pulse of his heartbeat beneath his fingertips, and the love shining in his eyes, before he stepped back and gave a solemn nod. Harry nodded back.

As one, they turned toward Voldemort. As one, they spoke the incantation to the ancient curse, the one they had found and perfected together, and as one, they dropped their shield as they let the curse fly. Together, they witnessed the panic, surprise and rage on Tom Riddle's face when the curse slammed into him, banishing his soul from the earth forever. Snape heard Harry give a soft triumphant cry. It was the last thing he knew before green light exploded around him.   
  


* * *

 

 

The light hurt Snape's eyes even through his closed eyelids. With a small moan, he tried to turn his face from the blinding glare. His small movement, however, didn't go unnoticed. The quiet whispering, which he had been listening to for several minutes, became two loud voices, each speaking over the other to gain his attention, each demanding a reply.

"Severus? Severus?" he heard Harry say from close by.

"Mr. Snape? Can you hear me?" another voice chimed in.

Snape groaned when the second speaker yelled directly in his ear. "Shut up, you imbecile," he slurred.

Harry's relieved laughter soothed the hurt. "You're all right," he whispered in Snape's ear. "You're all right."

"Mmmm," Snape said before drifting off to sleep again.

The second time he woke, the light was bearable. Snape lay still for several minutes while he waited for his body and mind to fully wake. Somewhere to his left, he heard a deep steady breathing that he knew to be Harry's. The knowledge that the boy was close by comforted him, but he refused to drift back to sleep.

The vision of the battle still haunted him. "There is no magic," he whispered to himself.

At the sound of his voice, Harry's steady breathing faltered. Snape held his breath and waited for the boy's soft snores to resume. When they did, he risked opening his eyes.

Bandages ran up his left side from his groin to his neck. Even part of his arm was encased in white. Snape scowled at the pristine white wraps. He despised being incapacitated.

"Stop sneering at them. They won't go away just because you wish it so."

Snape's eyes shot to Harry, noticing now that the boy was wide awake and watching him with misty eyes. Snape sneered at the bandages once more. "How bad is it?" he croaked.

Harry stood and hovered over Snape. Out of nowhere it seemed, a glass appeared in his hand, and he pressed the straw to Snape's lips. Not questioning, Snape sucked cool water from it until his thirst was satisfied.

Harry watched his every move. "It could have been worse," he said when Snape had finished drinking. "It came close to your heart. Very close. You almost died." He replaced the water on the hospital table.

Snape snorted. "But I didn't."

Harry nodded. Snape wondered if it was the fluorescent lighting of the hospital that was making Harry's eyes shine with tears.

Harry interrupted that thought with his next statement. "You almost died."

"You said that."

"Don't be flippant!" Harry yelled. He pulled away and retreated across the room.

Despite the water, Snape's throat felt as dry and scratchy as sandpaper. "What happened to…?"

Harry shrugged and turned to the window. "Dead. I killed him. Shot him with his own gun. Self-defense, of course. Perfectly justified. By the way, they say you can go home in about a week. If you don't get an infection," he added in a listless voice.

Snape blinked. "You killed him?"

Harry glanced back. "Well…I couldn't let him shoot you again. The second shot would have killed you for sure." He turned back to the window.

Snape wished to have his water glass back. His mouth had gone as dry as his throat.

After several moments of stony silence, Harry sighed and his shoulders drooped. He turned and shuffled back to the bed. Snape reached out with his good arm and Harry climbed up onto the bed next to him. "Sorry," he mumbled.

In answer, Snape just stroked his hair. Harry enjoyed the petting for a while before he propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at Snape. "You were talking, you know. While we waited for the ambulance."

Snape closed his eyes. "Really?" he muttered.

Harry nodded. "I couldn't make any of it out, really. Do you remember anything?"

Snape resumed carding his fingers through Harry's messy hair. "No."

Harry shifted on the bed and ignored the obvious lie. "We've both had near-death experiences now."

And seen things we did not wish to see, Snape thought.

"It's a bit ironic, don't you think?" Harry asked.

"Most unusual," Snape agreed.   
  


* * *

 

 

Unbeknownst to Harry, Snape had taken detailed notes on the boy's dreams, and he had a comprehensive list of those people in town Harry had claimed to recognize. The week in the hospital was spent weaning himself from various pain medications and rereading Harry's accounts of his fantasy world. At times, Harry's descriptions were lacking, but quite often Snape found he was able to supply the missing details without much effort, simply by searching his own memories. But no matter how much he struggled to piece it all together, everything remained a jumble of images and faces.

The day Harry brought him home, Snape began to chronicle his own dreams, now frequent occurrences. Soon, his notes eclipsed Harry's in both length and detail, and he began to lose sleep worrying over his new obsession. Through it all, Harry remained in a blissful state of ignorance, and for that Snape was thankful.

When the opportunity arose, he spoke with people in town whom he had dreamed about, inserting vague yet unmistakable references to his visions, but not one let on that they understood his double entendres.

He began to fear for his sanity.

To make matters worse, he tired more frequently than he had before the shooting. Snape knew the lingering twinges and aches would fade in time, but knowing the truth did little to assuage his mood. He snapped at Harry quite often, but Harry either ignored him or sniped back, and took over the duties Snape was no longer capable of handling.

There were no disagreements in the bedroom.

All in all, things were satisfactory, and if not for the lingering mystery of the shared visions, Snape would have been content.

Two weeks after Snape was released from the hospital, Remus Lupin reappeared. Snape scowled at the barrister, who had entered the shop as though it belonged to him and helped himself to a padded armchair. Lupin returned the scowl with a smile, his expression more friendly than Snape's, but resigned nonetheless.

"All right, Snape," he began. "What's with all the questions 'round town?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and put two and two together quickly. "What do you know?" he asked.

Lupin stared at Snape a long time. "What do you know?" he countered.

"Something has been done to me. Something…" he trailed off.

"Yes," Lupin affirmed with a nod.

Being manipulated had always stoked Snape's temper. "Who did it?" he growled.

Lupin tilted his head and rested his cheek in his palm. Snape itched to slap him. "Why, you did, Severus," Lupin answered. "Well," he amended, "you and Harry."

The narrow stool clattered as Snape collapsed onto it. Lupin squinted at him. "You obviously haven't remembered that part."

Snape closed his eyes and shook his head. "Why?" he whispered.

"It was what Harry wanted," Lupin answered. "He lost so much that day, Severus. You know quite well he has endured many losses through the years, but that day the toll was heavy indeed."

"Remind me," Severus commanded.

"Hermione. Ron. Most of the Weasleys, in fact. There's just Molly, Ginny and Charlie left now."

Snape's eyes flew open. "The Weasleys."

Lupin nodded. "Yes. They lost almost everyone and Molly couldn't bear it."

A group of people passed the front window, chattering and laughing amongst themselves. One of them, a tall blond man, looked familiar. His name was on the tip of Snape's tongue, but he couldn't grasp it. He watched until they had passed out of sight. "Hiding is no solution," he said.

Lupin shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "An argument you fought with Harry many times before you agreed to his plan. You suffered your own losses, you know. Draco, for one."

Snape hissed in a breath as the memories rushed in. Draco. The boy who gave up everything to be Harry's friend. Who survived the many trials of the war, only to be struck down in the final battle, a hair's-breadth from redemption. Draco.

"There are others here, then?" Snape asked.

"There are many. The times were dark. That day the darkest of all, despite the outcome."

Snape reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle and a tumbler. He eyed Lupin out of the corner of his eye. Lupin fought a smile. "Please," he said.

Snape sighed and withdrew another glass. He poured a single shot for Lupin and a double for himself. "I am curious, Lupin," he said as he handed the glass over.

Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"Why, I wonder, did Harry and I not arrange to be together for this…charade?" He took a large swallow of the liquor and smiled when Lupin choked on his.

"Well, you see, Severus…" Lupin shifted in his seat, licked his lips, started to speak again, gave up, sighed, and ended his little performance with a "bugger it all" under his breath. "You did. We…uh…we changed that part."

Snape's eyes flashed. "I see."

"It wasn't my idea," Lupin hastened to add.

"Of course not, wolf!" Snape spat. "You haven't conceived an original idea in your entire life."

To Snape's chagrin, Lupin grinned. "Gods, I've missed you, Severus," he whispered. Snape didn't answer, choosing instead to glare until Lupin cleared his throat and continued. "Some believed that Harry fell into a relationship with you because of the pressures of the war."

Snape snorted. "As if Harry would ever do anything he didn't want to do."

Lupin nodded. "Indeed. However, it was thought that if Harry were given the opportunity at a normal life, he would choose…"

"Somebody younger?" Snape cut in. "Somebody less tainted, perhaps?"

Lupin sat back and cradled the glass to his chest. "Perhaps," he said. He studied the remains of the liquor before swallowing it. "That never happened, though. He's been alone this whole time."

Snape took that in before pouring more liquor into his own glass. He didn't offer any to Lupin. "How long?" he asked after several moments.

Lupin cocked his head. "Do you really want to know that, Severus? Does it really matter? He found his way back to you. I followed orders and delivered my obligatory warning that you stay away from him. You told me to piss off, as I expected you would. We won't interfere again." He got up and placed his glass on the counter. "Severus," Lupin gestured to the shop around him, "this is what you wanted. Perhaps not in the beginning, that's true. But the idea grew on you over time. More importantly, it's what Harry wanted. Are you sure you want to lose it all now?"

Snape fingered the liquor bottle before putting it away. He met Lupin's eyes for the first time in several minutes. "How else can I proceed? I cannot let this lie fester in my mind, all the while pretending it doesn't exist."

Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder. "You helped Harry get past it."

"With the help of a mild sedative and some misdirection. He has not forgotten. And he knows I am lying to him."

Lupin nodded. "Yes. He was the only of us who could ever see inside of you." He gathered his coat and briefcase.

Snape watched in horror, panic clawing at his heart. "Where do you think you're going? We haven't resolved anything."

Lupin chuckled and Snape gritted his teeth. "We don't need to resolve anything," Lupin said. "It is you who needs to decide. Do you want to remember? Or do you want to forget?" He turned to leave.

Snape called out to him as he made his way toward the door. "And if I choose to forget? Will you help me?"

Lupin didn't turn as he walked away. "I can't, Severus. The spell doesn't work like that. You must find a way on your own."

"How in the hell do you expect me to manage that?"

Lupin glanced over his shoulder. "You've lost your memory, Severus. Not your magic." He gestured in the air with his free hand. "Mix something up." He winked. "I know you can." The bell chimed as the door shut behind him.

Snape spent the next hour staring out his front window.   
  


* * *

 

 

More dreams came that night. In one, Snape found himself in bed with Harry. The room around him was lit by only a dying fire and two thin tapers. The candles gave off a fair amount of light but did nothing to alleviate the chill, so Snape reached to pull Harry closer, searching for his warmth. He tried twice before he realized Harry was resisting the intimacy. Snape sighed and waited for the boy to speak up.

"We shouldn't have survived," Harry said after several minutes.

"But we did."

"I wish we hadn't," Harry replied in a dead voice.

"Don't say that."

"It's too much, Severus. Too much. Too much loss." He pulled away and sat up. Snape sighed again and pulled the blankets up around him while Harry brooded. "And still they come after you," Harry added out of the blue.

Snape shrugged. "The facts concerning my loyalty are muddled. I understand their concern. They do not trust me."

Harry snorted. He still hadn't looked at Snape. Instead, he directed his words at the glowing embers across the room. "The facts are clear. It's the events that are muddled. Those idiots couldn't see past their own noses." He sighed and hung his head. "You're a hero, Severus, yet they persecute you at every turn."

Snape reached for his wand and with a few quiet words, stoked up the fire. "We knew it would happen."

Harry remained stubbornly silent. With his free hand, the one not holding his wand, Snape rubbed his temple. "What do you want, Harry?"

Harry's shoulders tensed. Still, he remained turned away. "You know what I want."

"Running away will not solve your problems."

"It's not running."

Snape threw back the covers and got up. He sensed this argument had reached its apex, and he intended to be standing when it was decided. "You want to…what? Take away our memories and replace them with a pack of lies. Is that right?" He stalked to the sideboard and poured a shot of whiskey. Harry didn't answer. "Is that right?" Snape asked again.

Harry shrugged. "I don't have much worth remembering. Just you."

"It's…it's…" Snape shook his head and twirled the glass in his hands.

"It's what I want," Harry finished. "And I'm not the only one who wants it. There are others. Molly. I talked to her about it. She wants to come."

Severus shook his head and turned away, but Harry jumped off the bed and followed. "There are lots of people who want to come. Lucius, for one." Snape looked up sharply and Harry nodded. "And plenty of people have offered to watch over us. We'll be together – and safe." He circled his arms around Snape and pressed himself up against his back. "Haven't I done enough?" he asked, voice soft and muffled by the robe.

Snape set his jaw. "And I suppose you'll go ahead with this. Even if I refuse to be a part of it."

He felt Harry tremble against his back. "No," he whispered. "I won't leave you."

Snape fought the guilt, but it overran him. He tried one last time. "This isn't like you. You're a fighter."

"I'm tired of fighting."

And so it was decided.

In the end, over a hundred witches and wizards subjected themselves to the spell, all either heroes or victims of the war. They were given false lives of their choosing – a ridiculous waste of magic, in Snape's opinion, the spell was complex enough as it was. Yet, Harry insisted and so it was done. A group of self-appointed guardians shared the task of watching over them, Lupin included. Snape tried not to think about how foolish he might look to Lupin and the others, traipsing about like a Muggle. It's not as though he would realize it, though. And Harry would be there.

As for his own life, he decided on homeopathy. It appealed to him.

On the morning it was to happen, he kissed Harry goodbye. Harry gave him an encouraging smile in return. "It's going to be fine. I'll be seeing you tonight, you know. After I get home from my classes." He grinned, excited about the new life ahead of him.

"I can hardly wait," Snape drawled.

"Me either," Harry whispered against his lips.

Snape swallowed his final protests and Apparated to his new shop to wait. He felt a moment of anxiety, a touch of vertigo, as the spell took effect. His last thoughts were of Harry.   
  


* * *

 

 

The dream ended and he woke to Harry thrashing next to him in the bed. Snape pulled him close, but offered no soothing words or other nonsense. Instead, he listened to the jumble of incoherent words tumbling from the boy's mouth, straining to make them out through staccato moans and whimpers. After the nightmare had faded, and Harry had fallen back to sleep, Snape spent an hour studying the lines of fatigue, grief and pain on his face. He, himself, slept little, but his mind raced, turning over and over what he had learned that day.

He rose several hours before dawn and retreated to the backroom of his shop, where he normally mixed his medicines. Even the best trained eye would have been hard pressed to make sense of the scattered bottles, powders and pouches that littered the work surface, but Snape never hesitated. Pushing up his sleeves, he gathered ingredients as he moved through the room. With infinite care, he lined up his various finds on the butcher block work bench and set to work. Committed to his decision, he never faltered.

The people of the village claimed that Severus Snape knew things – things he shouldn't or couldn't know – and now he understood why. For the first time, at least that he could remember, he took conscious advantage of his special brand of intuition.

He brewed.

When Harry trudged down the stairs later that morning, Snape was waiting. Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked at Snape before slipping his glasses on and eyeing the two steaming cups of tea that were sitting on the table. Without a word, Snape passed one to Harry.

Harry's wry smile accented the dark circles under his eyes. "Sick of me stealing yours?"

Snape shrugged and raised his own cup in answer. "I made two."

Harry's smile widened. "Clever." He flopped onto a stool opposite Snape and took a sip of the hot liquid. Snape smirked when he made a face and nearly choked. Harry cleared his throat and peered into the cup. "What kind of tea is this?" he asked with a pained look.

"It's something new," Snape said. "It's quite uncommon and rather unusual. You won't find it very many places."

"I wonder why," Harry mumbled under his breath.

He set the cup on the counter, but Snape picked it back up and handed it to him. "Finish it," he insisted. "It will help."

Harry grimaced, but Snape pushed the cup under his nose. "Please," he said quietly. Harry, taken aback by the unusual plea, obeyed. He drank the rest in one large gulp and set the cup down with a clatter. "Help with what?" he asked as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Your nightmares," Snape said.

Harry cocked his head to the side and graced Snape with a confused smile. "What nightmares?"

Snape returned the smile. He picked up his own cup and stared into its murky depths.

"Severus?" Harry asked. "Is something wrong?"

Snape looked into the swirling liquid for a long time before he answered. "No," he said. "Everything is fine."

He drained his own cup. 


End file.
